


The Necessity of Terror

by Dark_Sinestra



Series: DS9: Sub-Prime [20]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Friendship, Intrigue, M/M, Major Illness, Matchmaking, incarceration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 00:29:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16566104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Sinestra/pseuds/Dark_Sinestra
Summary: Odo is struck with a mysterious malady that only a visit to his own people has the possibility to cure. Garak seizes the opportunity to find the answer to a question that has been plaguing him for far too long, an answer that may forever alter the dynamic between him and Julian. The fate of the entire Alpha Quadrant hangs in the balance.





	The Necessity of Terror

**Part I**

_Garak  
Garak's Clothiers_  
   
Garak hummed softly under his breath, the morning tinged with anticipation. What was about to happen? He couldn't say. He only knew that a plan long in the making was about to begin. It would soon be out of his hands and up to the players he had carefully arranged upon his stage. It was exciting. He greeted Aroya with his brightest smile when she walked through his doors. Her answering smile was sunny. “I'm so grateful you finished my dress early,” she said. “I can hardly wait to see it. When you showed me the fabrics, I knew it would be to die for.” She glanced around furtively and dropped her voice. “Is he here yet?”  
   
“Of course not,” Garak said, stepping to the side and drawing down her garment still neatly in its protective bag. “You need to get dressed.”  
   
She clapped her hands, her eyes shining. “You really do think of everything, don't you?” she asked. “I'll go try it on right away.”  
   
“Don't rush, my dear,” he said with easy kindness. “It will take him a few moments to arrive. If you need help with any of the fastenings, do let me know.”  
   
“I will,” she said, taking the hanger from him and raising to tip toes to kiss his cheek. “You really are a doll to do this for me.”  
   
“Odo is a friend,” he said pleasantly, sweeping a dressing room curtain open for her. “The way I see it, I'm doing him the favor. You're delightful company.”  
   
With her safely ensconced and getting ready, he walked over to his comm and hailed Odo in his office. “Constable,” he said, making certain his face was an unreadable mask, “I need you in my shop right away.” He cut the transmission before Odo could ask any questions. He knew that a sense of duty and curiosity would bring him quickly. Were he anybody other than himself, he might have bounced on his toes. He was having entirely too much fun.  
   
Odo arrived, certain that he was interrupting a crime in progress, and Aroya emerged, a vision in her sunset hued dress. Garak beamed benevolently and made the introductions. He had to give it to Aroya. She turned up the charm and made it crystal clear that she would be more than happy to be receptive to a social overture from Odo. He certainly would have found such effervescent charm difficult to turn down, at least for a dinner invitation. Odo had always been the weak link in this plan of his and proved true to form, as awkward as a preteen at a formal gala. Aroya left without an invitation to a date, and Odo made his displeasure at the ruse known in no uncertain terms. Why did some people insist on being miserable?  
   
All thought of that fled his mind the moment Odo turned to leave, only to be felled by some sort of violent spasm. Garak acted quickly, summoning Julian and his staff for a medical emergency using Odo's comm badge. “Help is on the way,” he said, not sure the prone changeling could hear him.  
   
Julian and two nurses rushed in, the doctor dropping to his knees to scan the security chief. “What happened?” he asked tersely, his eyes never leaving his tricorder.  
   
Garak described the seizure to the best of his ability. No, nothing obvious happened to bring it on. No, he wasn't aware of anything unusual in the shop or the immediate surroundings. No, no one else had been there at the time it happened. He watched them carry Odo away, frowning deeply to himself. Was it possible anxiety over the encounter with Aroya brought it on? Surely not. He had seen Odo distressed before. He wasn't distressed when he was leaving, merely annoyed. Maybe he had been feeling strange before he arrived at the shop. Maybe that was why he wasn't particularly receptive to the introduction. He wasn't ready to give up on that entirely. He'd wait until he knew more.  
   
 _Julian  
The Infirmary_  
   
All doctors knew that at times it was important to phrase their findings creatively, not to lie outright to patients but to keep them from suffering undue uncertainty. It was much harder to accomplish with someone as observant as Odo. Julian wasn't sure how well he had managed it. He knew so little about changeling physiology, only what he had been able to measure from Odo when he seemed perfectly healthy. Now, his mass and density were in a state of significant fluctuation. Was it normal? Could it be a disease? All bio-scans for foreign particulates had thus far come up negative. The only bacteria present on Odo were surface bacteria one would expect to find on a space station in that sector. He wasn't infected, as far as Julian could tell.  
   
Although he was reluctant and it felt a little bit like a violation of Odo's privacy, Julian decided his best bet was to contact Doctor Mora. Of everyone he knew, the Bajoran scientist knew more about changeling physiology than anyone else. He put the call through and waited anxiously to be transferred.  
   
“Doctor Bashir,” Mora said with a look of pleasant surprise. “It has been too long since we last had the pleasure of speaking. What can I do for you today? My assistant said this is a matter of some urgency?”  
   
“I'm afraid so,” Julian said. He didn't keep the man in suspense, telling him all that had transpired in the past several hours and going into detail about his readings and tests. “Naturally, I realized that you were the best chance I have to understand what may be happening.”  
   
Mora nodded, his expression grave. “Doctor, I wonder if you recall that you said you owe me a favor?”  
   
It took Julian a moment to recall, then it came to him, Garak's abduction before Vedek Bareil's funeral and the assistance Mora had provided in isolating the drug used. “Yes,” he said, “I recall.”  
   
“I'm calling it in,” he said. “Please, do what you can to get Odo to come to my lab here on Bajor. I know he may be unwilling. However, I have equipment here you may not have access to on Deep Space Nine. I will, of course, provide you with full access to all of my lab notes and findings from the time of Odo's discovery until he left us. If you're unsuccessful in persuading him, I'll still accept you've acted in good faith.”  
   
“Of course,” Julian said, nodding assent. He was grateful that the forgotten favor didn't prove to be costly. He doubted seriously that Odo would agree, but he intended to do as he had been asked. “I appreciate your cooperation. I'll keep you abreast of my findings, and I'll let you know one way or the other whether he'll be coming to you.”  
   
“Thank you,” Mora said. “I'll begin the upload of my data to your system now. If you need anything else or his condition worsens, contact me at any hour. I believe you know how to reach me at home?”  
   
“I do,” Julian said. He waited while Mora arranged the upload and saw that the data transfer had successfully begun. “I'm receiving.” Within a few more moments, the transfer was complete. “I have it. I'll begin looking over this now. In the mean time, I'm keeping Odo in our infirmary until the fluctuations I mentioned cease. Moving exacerbates the condition. I don't want him losing cohesion.”  
   
“A wise precaution,” Mora agreed. “I'll let you get back to work. Doctor...thank you for contacting me. I know you did it in Odo's best interest, but nonetheless I appreciate the inclusion.”  
   
“You're welcome,” he said. Mora ended the transmission, and Julian pulled up the copious notes. There was a very Cardassian sort of order to them that illustrated the conditions under which the Bajoran scientist had been forced to conduct his research.  
   
He had empathy for the man's past plight and recalled with an inner shudder what it was like to work under enemy control, his own research into the Jem'Hadars' addiction to ketracel white under duress. He knew Mora endured those conditions for years and had been labeled by many as a collaborator, yet where would Odo be now without his tireless experiments and eventual realization that the Odo'ital, the “unknown sample” was sentient and deserved the right to make his own decisions? Would Odo ever be able to see that for himself and understand what the Bajoran had suffered? He knew it wasn't his business, and he vowed to keep his thoughts on the matter to himself.  
   
After several hours of research and finding himself no closer to an answer to Odo's plight, he left the infirmary so that he could have dinner with Garak in his quarters. The two of them had been on strained footing for a couple of weeks now, and he had yet to be able to determine why. Anything that lasted longer than a week was more than just the tailor's moodiness. He hoped that concern for Odo might keep the more unpleasant manifestations of Garak's pique at bay. Fortunately, it did. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to finish his dinner before being summoned for a medical emergency in Cargo Bay Eight, Odo, exactly where he had no business being. He frowned an apology at Garak. “Go, Doctor,” the Cardassian said.  
   
“Bashir to Ops. Emergency transport to Cargo Bay Eight,” he said, his body tingling as Garak's concerned visage and quarters disappeared to be replaced by the crate crowded cargo bay and the worried face of one of Odo's deputies.  
   
“I was on patrol and found him like this,” the Bajoran said. “I...I almost stepped in him.” The man colored deeply.  
   
Julian nodded and requested another emergency transport, this time for himself and Odo to the infirmary. He used a cauterizer to form a make-shift lip on the biobed so that Odo would remain contained and not have to be placed in a more restrictive container. The changeling stabilized enough to regain consciousness and form, more or less, but it was clear his condition was deteriorating. Julian fought down the urge to deal harshly with him for leaving without his permission. “I don't suppose I need to tell you to stay put?” he said, trying not to glare.  
   
“No, Doctor,” Odo answered, sounding resigned. “I don't think I could go anywhere right now even if I wanted to. I'm...sorry...for disobeying your order.”  
   
“I imagine you are,” Julian said without heat. “I'm going to do everything I can to get to the bottom of this. I need your cooperation.”  
   
“You'll have it,” Odo said. “I'd...like to rest now, if I may.”  
   
“Of course,” he said and stopped talking to him, taking a few more scans and measurements in silence. He contacted Mora a second time, hoping that perhaps he had seen something like this before, something he may have left out of his meticulous notes. Instinctively, he knew he was on a dead end course before asking. If either of them knew what was happening, they would have acted on it by now. He thought about Starfleet Medical and rejected the thought in the next breath. They didn't know enough about changeling anatomy, and they'd be more likely to treat Odo as an opportunity to learn more than to try to help him. No, there was only one real chance for the constable to get better, a most unpalatable option. They were going to have to take him to the Founders. It was time to present Odo with his limited options and let him make his decision. He knew what it would be. It didn't change the fact that he had to ask and had to see if he'd be willing to go to Doctor Mora first.  
   
 _Garak  
Garak's Clothiers_  
   
One of the many reasons he left his shop doors open during business hours was so that he could gauge the mood of the Promenade. It was amazing the things one could learn simply by watching and sensing. A crowd started to coalesce near the infirmary. Curious and cautious both, Garak moved to the front of his shop and fiddled with a window display. He saw Odo emerge between Kira and Julian. He was shocked at his condition, far worse than when he had seen him collapse in his shop two days before. Something he had seen earlier clicked, several senior staff members heading off with purpose toward the direction of the docking ring.  _You and your Starfleet secrets,_  he thought with mild irritation at the doctor. He didn't truly blame him. He knew he had to answer to duty first. Still, this was inconvenient and left him with very little time to prepare.  
   
He hailed Ziyal in Major Kira's quarters, fairly certain she'd be there painting. She answered his hail, a smudge of paint on her cheek confirming his suspicion. “Garak,” she said pleasantly, her face instantly lighting with a smile, “what a nice surprise! What can I do for you?”  
   
“I'm truly sorry to have to do this in such a way, but I'm going on an unexpected trip,” he said. “In fact, if I don't leave in about five minutes, I'm going to miss my ship.”  
   
Her smile faded to worry. “So quickly? How long have you known you were going?” she asked, the underlying accusation plain in her tone of voice.  
   
“I had less than a minute's notice,” he said, “so you can see why I didn't come say my good-byes in person. I should be back before you know it. If you want details, ask Major Kira. I'm certain she will fill you in on some of it.”  
   
She nodded, trying to take it all in and react with the decorum she seemed to think he expected from her. “Be careful,” she said. “I'll miss you.”  
   
“Hopefully, I won't be gone long enough for that,” he said, cutting the transmission and hurrying from the shop, almost forgetting to lock it behind himself in his haste. He arrived at the docking ring and found Major Kira standing at the closed airlock, poised to return to duty. “Major,” he said, “if I may have a very quick moment of your time?” Even as he addressed her, he turned to a wall comm console and hailed the Defiant.  
   
“What is it?” she asked, watching him with suspicion.  
   
“It's about Ziyal,” he said, sending the text transmission and awaiting a reply. “I know that the O'Briens are keeping you busy, but if you could find time in your schedule to spend some time with her and check on her in the evenings, I'd appreciate it.”  
   
She colored faintly. “I haven't meant to neglect her,” she said.  
   
“Oh, I know,” he reassured her. “You've been understandably distracted. She'd never tell you herself, and she would be mortified if she knew I did, but she's not adjusting well to being alone. Unfortunately, I'm not going to be in a position to do anything about that for a while.” He ended his transmission and stepped forward, the airlock rolling back to admit him.  
   
“What are you doing?” she asked, her dark eyed widening.  
   
“I'm going to the Gamma Quadrant,” he said simply and left her to her surprise.  
   
 _Julian  
USS Defiant Sickbay  
Alpha Quadrant_  
   
He hadn't been too surprised that Garak managed to talk his way on board. When he wanted something, he could be very persuasive. What did he want? One of the security officers brought in a chair to set beside the biobed, and shortly after that, Garak entered the sickbay and took his seat. Julian held his tongue, cutting a sharp glance the tailor's way to let him know he'd brook no tricks in his sickbay and that he'd have him ejected at the first sign of stress he placed on his patient.  
   
Odo eyed Garak. “What are you doing here? If this is some sort of attempt on your part to play nursemaid, I'll tell you it's as unwelcome and ill thought as your trying to set me up with that woman.”  
   
 _What woman?_  Julian arched an eyebrow and shot a questioning look at Garak that the man ignored.  
   
“That woman has a name, Chalan Aroya, as I told you before, and I fail to see how being polite and introducing you to someone in my shop at the same time you happened to be there is 'ill thought'. As for my presence here, you may recall when we were fleeing for our lives in the Gamma Quadrant there were several Cardassian and Romulan ships that weren't yet destroyed. I want the chance to ask your people about any possible survivors.”  
   
Julian turned his back so that Garak wouldn't see his surprise. He thought that the tailor had given up on that hope some time ago. He reminded himself never to underestimate his lover's tenacity and listened with more interest than he broadcast. Odo's readings were in greater flux than even a few hours before. The rate of deterioration was accelerating.  
   
“I see,” Odo said, sounding somewhat mollified. “That doesn't explain what you're doing here at my bedside.”  
   
“Constable,” Garak chided, “as you well know, I'm a voluble individual. Conversation is the butter to my bread. Have you ever tried conversing with Starfleet security officers outside of work? I'll hazard a guess and say that you have not. I'll go further to say it's not your natural reticence that has served as an obstacle to amicable relations, but their utter and total lack of personality. It's a job requirement. Did they tell you that?”  
   
Julian's lips twitched. He didn't have to look at Odo to picture the eye roll in his mind's eye. “Garak,” he warned without turning around, “please, don't tire my patient. If you're bored, I'm sure we can find you something to read.”  
   
Garak continued as though he hadn't even heard. “Cardassian and Romulan ships,” he said to Odo. “I wonder if there were any Romulan dignitaries on those ships. What do you think?”  
   
“What do you care if there were?” Odo grated.  
   
“Call it curiosity more than care,” Garak replied amiably. “I met a fair share of Romulan dignitaries in my time on Romulus.”  
   
He couldn't help himself. He glanced over his shoulder. Odo's attention was now laser focused on Garak. Julian smiled inwardly. Captain Sisko was a smart man, and no doubt Garak was all too pleased to offer himself for such use. No one could better distract the shape shifter without making him feel like a burden or self-conscious. If he was lucky, Garak might let slip something he himself hadn't heard before, reveal a little more of that mystery that still had him intrigued after all this time.  
   
 _Garak  
USS Defiant Sick Bay  
Gamma Quadrant_  
   
Garak wove his narrative carefully, more carefully than he would've with a human or anyone of lesser observation skills, leaving just enough holes and clues for Odo to follow and poke. A large part of his mind was elsewhere, forward and backward looking at once, a juxtaposition that would thrust a non-Cardassian mind into a crisis of sanity. Gray. Romulus had been so very gray, its landscape, its people, their alien minds and ways, even their cold hearts, so drab that at times being in their presence weighed him down nearly to the ground.  
   
It was an assignment that he should have enjoyed, one of the biggest challenges of his career. He had been too stupidly in love to appreciate it, longing for the woman he had no right to have, the married woman he should have left alone, would have left alone had it not been for that day he saw her and her daughter in the Tarlak Sector. He betrayed himself on Romulus. He gave a part of himself away that he could never reclaim, the part of him that made Tolan Garak proud of him. More than himself, he betrayed the man who had raised him as his son and the secrets he shared with him about his beloved Edosian orchids. He gave up the right to call himself a gardener, sold his soul for a pittance and the approval of one who never valued anything or anyone he couldn't use.  
   
“A gardener?” Odo's voice wove into his reverie. “At the Cardassian embassy on Romulus?”  
   
Garak nodded, seeing interest in the keen blue eyes regarding him. He smiled faintly.  
   
Odo smiled as well. “Fascinating.”  
   
Had Odo not struck him when he did and forcibly dragged him along, there would be no one to inquire as to the fate of the Obsidian Order agents lost to the doomed mission. No one would care. Good riddance to bad rubbish seemed to be the general attitude on Cardassia Prime, not a single one of those predatory soldiers and fat, complacent politicians aware of what the state of the union might have been without the long service and personal sacrifices of the lost. How many wolves had they kept at bay from Cardassia's borders, how many threats neutralized before the honest, hardworking people ever knew of them? He deeply resented the apathy, no, worse than apathy, the active relief with which his people greeted news of the collapse of the Order.  
   
He had visions of bold negotiations; however, what did he have to offer the Founders? He couldn't speak in an official capacity at all. Still, if he could provide a solid lead, real intelligence that some of the lost were imprisoned and not dead, it was possible something would be done. Many of them were from influential families, families that would not sit idly back and remain quiet while the government did nothing.  
   
“Odd that you would just happen to meet the senator a mere twelve days before his death in a lift accident,” Odo said, the observation enough to cut into this future thinking and take his focus back to the steady conversation they had been having since his arrival.  
   
“Yes, it was so unfortunate,” he said. It had been, and it wasn't his doing. There could have been other agents on Romulus. The Obsidian Order often built redundancy into its plans, or it could simply have been the accident it seemed to be.  
   
Odo was visibly tiring. “I want the chance to think about some of what you've told me,” he said. “You seem to be trying to distract me. Come back later, and I'll have more questions for you.”  
   
“I'll do that, Constable,” Garak said, inclining his head and standing. He glanced at Julian. “I haven't been assigned quarters. I believe the captain overlooked it in his haste to depart.”  
   
“You weren't exactly expected,” Julian said. He looked over at Odo. “I'll be back in a few minutes. I'm going to get Garak settled.”  
   
“Take your time, Doctor,” Odo said dryly. “I'm not going anywhere.”  
   
 _Julian  
USS Defiant Crew Quarters  
Gamma Quadrant_  
   
Gesturing at the extremely cramped room with its upper and lower bunk, Julian said, “Pick your bed.”  
   
Garak glanced at Julian's duffel in the corner. “This is your room,” he said.  
   
Julian nodded. “I figured you'd rather bunk with me than with a security officer, and I don't think any of the other members of the senior staff would have you. You're welcome to ask, if you wish.”  
   
He shook his head and took longer to select a bunk than Julian felt was warranted. At last he climbed to the top and settled flat on his back. “So you don't care if the others are aware that we're involved again?” he asked.  
   
The doctor frowned. “I don't think this trip is a good time to announce anything.”  
   
“Who said anything about making an announcement?” Garak snapped. “Do you not think it likely some will assume as soon as they become aware of this arrangement? Dax, for instance? Perhaps Chief O'Brien?”  
   
“I can't help what they assume,” he said with a sigh. “Nor do I have time to discuss it right now. As you saw, Odo's condition is highly unstable. I need to keep monitoring him.”  
   
“Call for me when he's strong enough to speak again,” Garak said.  
   
“I will,” he said. He paused at the door before it opened. “I wish you'd tell me what it is I've done this time. I thought we were beyond freezing one another out.”  
   
“If you don't have time to discuss Dax and Chief O'Brien, then you definitely don't have time to discuss that,” the tailor said, pinning him with a significant look.  
   
“Fine,” he said, defeated for the moment but unwilling to let it drop for good. “Don't think I won't be coming back to that when I do have time.”  
   
He left him behind and walked the narrow corridor back to the sick bay. He didn't see how Worf could ever consider this place home. Life on a space station straight out of Starfleet Medical Academy hadn't prepared him for the nearly claustrophobic environment of ships like the Defiant. He missed the solid rumble of the station and its slight vibration beneath his feet. It was amazing how much he now considered it home, surely more at home there than he had ever been on Earth.  
   
When he returned to the sickbay, he said, “If you want him to stay away, just tell me. You're under no obligation to humor him.”  
   
Odo shifted on the bed with a slightly wet sound. “He's fine, Doctor,” he said. “Actually takes my mind off of things. You're the one who should be careful, you know.”  
   
“I beg your pardon?” he glanced at him over his shoulder.  
   
“Hmph,” he grumbled and shook his head. “Do you really think I haven't noticed?”  
   
Picking up a hand held scanner, he turned and walked over to the modified biobed, running the wand along Odo's prone form. He gave him a bland smile worthy of Garak. “I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about,” he said.  
   
“Play it that way if you like,” the constable retorted. “Just ask yourself this. What has changed between now and the last time the two of you called things off? It ended for a reason.”  
   
“Could you please lower your voice?” Julian asked, leaning closer. “It's not...like it was before.”  
   
Odo gave him a smug, satisfied smile. “So I was right,” he said.  
   
“You mean you didn't know?” he asked, frowning.  
   
The changeling's chuckle sounded like gravel on glass. “I do now.”  
   
“I'll thank you to keep it to yourself, or I'll have to start asking you about this Chalan Aroya woman and why it is that Garak seems to be trying to play matchmaker with you,” he said, turning back to the monitors and setting the scanner aside. Odo's silence was rewarding, but he didn't like what he was seeing. He didn't know how much longer Odo would be able to hold cohesion or how soon death would follow when he couldn't. Then again, all of them could be dead fairly shortly, depending upon the response of the Founders.  
   
After about an hour of rest, Odo asked for him to have Garak brought back to him. Round two of the conversation was no less labyrinthine. It was difficult for him to imagine Garak grubbing around in the dirt and swapping fertilizer secrets with Romulan senators and dignitaries. How much of the tale was made up on the spot, and how much of it was drawn from real events? Odo seemed to have knowledge of many of the deaths and disappearances Garak mentioned. Was there a possibility that Garak had a hand in all of them? Surely not.  
   
His thoughts drifted to what Odo said to him about being careful when the conversation swept too deeply into the political world of the Romulan Star Empire for him to want to follow it. He considered Garak's tendency to try to dominate him physically, something that waned when he was with Leeta only to return with a vengeance now that they had broken up. Most of the time he was content to allow it. It meant pleasure for both of them, and no matter how rough Garak got, he had never again escalated to being abusive or truly coercive.  _How can he be coercive when you give in so readily? What about that night with the phaser?_  
   
He didn't like those thoughts. What if he did decide to put up real resistance? Did he want to test that limit when it could mean consequences he wasn't prepared to face? If he wasn't prepared for them, didn't that mean his submission ran deeper than humoring Garak for the sake of enjoyment? He liked that thought even less.  
   
After another half hour, he felt the ship drop out of warp. “Gentlemen, I think we may have company,” he said.  
   
 _Garak  
USS Defiant Corridor  
Gamma Quadrant_  
   
Jem'Hadar soldiers smelled. He didn't know if it was a result of the compound coursing through their neck tubes, some unknown component of their tight fitting armor, or a quirk of natural body chemistry. All he knew was that there was a chemical reek that couldn't be coming from the Starfleet security officers or Julian out in the corridor with him and that definitely wasn't coming from him. He didn't appreciate being ushered out of sickbay before he had the chance to press his case.  _You've waited this long,_  he told himself.  _You can wait a little longer._  What were they doing in there, anyway? For all he knew, the Founder and Odo could have beamed out of the ship to an unknown location, leaving the rest of them none the wiser.  
   
At last his patience paid off. Julian returned to the sickbay, and Garak hurried after the female Founder in the corridor, pressing his inquiry despite her attempt to brush him aside. She suddenly stopped her forward progress and turned to fix him with eyes more cold and unreadable than any agent's. “Cardassian survivors?” she asked, her voice low of timbre and powerful.  
   
“Yes,” Garak said, keeping his mask of curious inquiry in place with difficulty.  
   
“There were no Cardassian survivors,” she asserted.  
   
He felt the revelation like a gut punch, the sheer numbers alone and the utter ruthlessness of it appalling. “You mean they're all dead?” he heard himself ask as though from a distance. The mask was a little easier when he had the detachment of shock. He had been so sure there were survivors, so hopeful that Tain had once again shown his talent for escaping impossible odds. It felt like losing him twice.  
   
“They're dead, you're dead, Cardassia is dead,” she pounded the points home with savage civility more menacing than the demeanor of her shock troops ever could be. “Your people were doomed the moment they attacked us.” She drew herself up straighter. “I believe that answers your question.”  
   
His rage ignited, molten and vicious. For one brief moment, he found himself wanting nothing more than to destroy the creature standing there, treating the entire matter of so many Cardassian deaths, his father's death, as something almost beneath her notice, contemptible, and threatening his home. It then washed cold. Attacking her here and now would be suicide, a luxury that he and his people couldn't afford. A smile clawed to the surface, and he inclined his head deeply. “It's been a pleasure to meet you,” he said.  
   
He stood still in the corridor, alone now with nothing but his thoughts and his cold fury. More than that, he feared for his people in a way he never had before. No threat to Cardassia had ever been more real or dangerous. When he had looked into the Founder's eyes, he had seen genocide. There was but one answer to that level of enmity. He'd have to make sure that he struck first. He'd have to finish what Tain started.  
   
He strolled into sickbay and walked to Odo's bedside. The changeling was sitting up instead of lying down, and although he looked wetter than usual, somewhat slick, he looked better. “I must say, you're still not quite looking yourself,” he said pleasantly.  
   
“I'm not,” Odo replied. “For that I'll have to return to the Great Link.”  
   
Julian approached and stood beside Garak. “I hope you know that it's not likely Captain Sisko is going to allow this without some guarantee of your safe return.”  
   
“Safe return?” Garak asked.  
   
Julian and Odo exchanged a glance. At the constable's subtle nod, Julian said, “Apparently, the Founders are the ones responsible for Odo's condition. They did this to him in order to bring him to them for judgment.”  
   
“No Founder has ever caused the death of another, until me,” Odo said. “How can I possibly try to avoid this without making a mockery of everything I've ever stood for in my life?”  
   
“Very noble of you,” Garak said, “assuming their values are your values. Who knows what passes for justice to the Dominion?” He knew, and he could at least respect their stomach for the game if not their current goals.  
   
“It doesn't matter,” the changeling said, shaking his head. “It's what I have to do. Did you find out what you wanted to know?” he asked.  
   
He had to be careful. He didn't know what sort of information passed between changelings when they linked. He had seen what happened when the female Founder had touched Odo's hand on the biobed before dismissing him, the doctor, and the security unit. He couldn't afford to lie to him. It didn't mean he couldn't be vague. “I did,” he said. “I'm afraid that I can't continue our conversation of before at the moment. I actually came to see the doctor.”  
   
Julian looked surprised. “Excuse us for just a minute?” he asked Odo. At the man's nod, he drew Garak to the side, his expression concerned. “What is it?” he asked softly. “Bad news?”  
   
“I'd rather not discuss it right now,” he said vaguely, wincing and lifting a hand to his temple. “Of all the times for a migraine to strike... I don't suppose you have some of that medication you give me? I don't have a valise. I didn't have time to pack.”  
   
“I don't,” he said, frowning. “I'm sorry. It's not something I thought we'd ever need on the Defiant. I do have a painkiller, but you're not going to like how it makes you feel.”  
   
“I don't like how the migraines make me feel,” he said. “I'll take it. Besides, there's nothing left for me to do here. I may as well sleep, even if it means nightmares.”  
   
Julian searched his gaze, his expressive dark eyes compassionate. He seemed to have guessed accurately at the Founder's reply. That was fine by Garak. It meant he'd be more likely to do as he asked and leave him alone. The doctor turned away and went to search the medical locker for pain pills. He returned to the tailor with a small dose envelope and a cup of water. “Would you like for me to come check on you in a little while? If you need to talk...”  
   
Garak took the medicine and the cup from him gently. “No, my dear,” he said quietly. “What I need is some time alone, peace and quiet, and darkness.”  
   
“All right,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at Odo. “We're being taken to the Founders' new homeworld. I'm probably going to go to the surface with Odo, if at all possible. He's my patient, and you know me. I don't easily give up the care of my patients to third parties, no matter how qualified to cure them they may be.”  
   
 _Of course,_  Garak thought, tempted to laugh to avoid the alternative.  _There always has to be a price for my attachments. It's the unwritten law of the Universe versus Elim Garak._  “I'm sure he'll be glad of the company,” he said lightly, “even if he doesn't show it.” He affected another wince. “I'm going to my quarters now. I'd just as soon say our farewells here. You know how I get with the medication.”  
   
Julian nodded, hesitated, then cupped his face in both long hands and kissed him tenderly. Before he could get a protest out, the doctor said, “He knows about us anyway. I don't have a guarantee that I'll be returning, so I'll be damned if I don't at least get a proper good-bye.”  
   
Tutting impatiently, Garak shook his head slightly. “I won't hear that kind of talk,” he said. “Besides, you know I hate public displays. I'm sure Odo does, too.” He wanted nothing more than to hold the dear man to him and kiss him until neither one of them could catch their breath. Instead, he turned away with his cup and pills. He paused as he passed Odo. “I'd say good luck,” he said, “except that I know you don't believe in it any more than I do.”  
   
“Thank you, Garak,” Odo said sincerely. “I hope you feel better soon.”  
   
 _I will,_  he thought grimly on his way out the door,  _for approximately five minutes. Then the Jem'Hadar will blow us from the sky, but it won't matter. Your people will be smoking cinders, Cardassia will be safe, and if there actually is some sort of Hell as so many races seem to believe, I'll see my father there shortly._  
   
He walked back to the tiny quarters, secreted the pills beneath the thin mattress pad of his bunk, and drank the water, setting the cup aside. That way, if by chance Julian did change his mind and try to come see him, he might assume Garak just took a walk to help himself deal with the pain pills. “Computer,” he said, “lights out.”

**Part II**

_USS Defiant Jefferies Tube  
Founder’s Homeworld, Low Orbit_

His biggest enemy aside from the Founders was time. There wasn't much of it. He couldn't be sure he had found every security camera in the corridors on his way to this critical junction. Although he had been as thorough as he could, he wasn't familiar with this ship and its systems. At least the launch controls for the torpedoes were straightforward enough. He almost had them completely reconfigured for his direct control. Noise at his back alerted him that he had company. Prepared for anything, he worked faster, not stopping until a heavy hand at his shoulder pulled him away. Worf confronted him angrily, as expected. What he didn't expect was that the Klingon would have no stomach to do what was necessary.  _Of all the Klingons in the galaxy, I have to be found by the only one infected with Starfleet ideals,_  he thought in frustration.  
   
Fine, Worf wouldn't listen to reason? He'd have to do this the hard way. He launched his attack in the blink of an eye, shoving Worf aside and lunging for the controls. All he needed to do was to make one connection, and every quantum torpedo armed on the ship would blast the planet below, vaporizing the Founders, Odo, Julian, and Sisko. It was a small price for billions of lives, hundreds of planets, an infinitesimal price for Cardassia.  
   
Worf snatched him back by both shoulders. He pivoted and brought his hands up, palm heeling the Klingon hard to the nose. Even Klingon's had vulnerabilities. He knew them and intended to exploit as many as he could strike. Worf slammed his fist into his face, going for vulnerable cartilage. His head snapped to the side. From peripheral vision he saw the massive warrior closing. He ducked low and jabbed a vicious elbow to his ribs.  
   
For a few moments, he thought he just might have the fight. He had Worf on the retreat, hammering him with everything he had. The Klingon feinted right, caught him off balance, and slammed him so forcefully into a side panel he knocked it loose. He felt himself flung to the floor, the back of his head cracking against the hard deck plate with such brute force he almost lost consciousness. Worf said something he couldn't hear through the ringing in his ears. It didn't matter. He had failed his mission. He would never get this chance twice. How many would now pay?  
   
 _Julian  
USS Defiant Sickbay  
Gamma Quadrant_  
   
Every scan he could perform told him the same thing. Odo was as human as he, the only difference being the oddly plastic facial features the Founders left him as a cruel reminder of his former life. He knew the man had to be unnerved, if not scared half out of his wits. He bore it well, submitting to every test without complaint. “I'll want a better look at you when we get back to the station,” he said. “For now you're free to retire to your quarters. I'm sure you'd like to rest.” He was also sure he'd want the time alone. He left that unsaid.  
   
Odo nodded and left him. With nothing left to monitor, he shut down his equipment and turned toward the door. Dax stood in the doorway, her expression complex and very difficult to read. “I need to talk to you,” she said, stepping through the door and making sure it locked behind her. “It's about Garak.”  
   
He felt his breath catch in his chest. Had he misread him? Had Garak watched him obtain the pills just so he'd know where to find the rest of them? They had been stranded on that bleak isle of rock in the sea of changelings for almost two days. He never would have imagined Garak as suicidal, but if he had managed to hide his continued obsession about the missing ships for as long as he had, he could manage to hide that. “I'm listening,” he said faintly.  
   
Dax compressed her lips to a thin line. “Worf found him in a jefferies tube junction two days ago.”  
   
“What?” he breathed, feeling his knees trying to give out.  
   
“He was trying to gain control of all of our weapon systems. He almost succeeded. Julian, he intended to destroy the planet, with the three of you on it,” she said, her pale blue eyes blazing. “If Worf hadn't stopped him, he would've murdered you and committed one of the worst acts of genocide in known history.”  
   
He blinked. What was she saying? “He's...alive?” he asked, his brows dipping downward.  
   
She stared at him incredulously. “Does it matter?”  
   
He strode forward and seized her shoulders in a tight grip. “It matters to me. Is he alive?” he asked more forcefully.  
   
“Yes,” she said, shaking free of his grip with an abrupt gesture. “He injured Worf pretty badly. He's tougher than I would've thought. He's in the brig.”  
   
He brushed past her, hurrying out into the corridor and following its twists to the tiny brig that consisted of only two holding cells. Two armed security guards flanked one of the cells, its force field humming and popping with occasional static as dust motes glanced off its surface. “I want to see the prisoner,” he said.  
   
“We're under orders from Commander Worf that no one sees him,” one of the guards said, “until Captain Sisko has a chance to interrogate him.”  
   
“I'm Chief Medical Officer of this ship,” Julian said tightly, “and I've been informed this man was in a violent fight. I  _will_  have a look at him.” He glared at the officer and offered him his phaser. “If you'll be so good as to hold this for me, I'd appreciate it.”  
   
The other officer nodded and deactivated the field. Julian stepped into the small cell to find Garak seated on the bunk, blank and looking shell shocked. Blood had crusted at the corner of his mouth, and one eye ridge was swollen and deeply purple. “He wasn't even given basic treatment?” Julian snapped out at the guards, activating his tricorder and scanning the Cardassian.  
   
“Commander Worf said he was too dangerous,” came a somewhat sheepish reply.  
   
“Commander Worf isn't a doctor or a medic,” Julian retorted. He shut off the scanner and tucked it back at his belt. “This will probably hurt,” he said to Garak, probing carefully at the back of his head. His fingers came away wet with blood. “I need to get him to sickbay right now,” he barked out. “He has been actively bleeding for two days straight!” He looked back to Garak. “Can you walk?”  
   
Garak stood mechanically, staring straight ahead. Julian stood with him and kept a steadying hand at his shoulder. One of the guards deactivated the field again, and the two of them fell into step with them, one to the fore, one behind, to escort them to sickbay. They made as though to walk in with him. He stopped them. “I'll take it from here,” he said coldly. “You can wait in the corridor.”  
   
“Come on,” he said, guiding Garak toward the biobed. “I need you to lie here for me. I need to make sure you don't have a concussion or worse.” He was painfully aware that the tailor had yet to speak or show anything beyond very basic understanding of what was expected of him. It reminded him too much of his condition after his first disastrous foray into the Gamma Quadrant.  _He tried to kill you. He tried to kill everyone on that planet,_  the thought intruded.  
   
 _He must've had a good reason,_  came the unspoken reply. He didn't have time to argue with himself or sort out his feelings. He didn't really have time to feel them. Once he had Garak settled on the bed, he did a deeper scan. Although his contusion was severe and the skin was deeply split at the back of his head, he had miraculously escaped anything worse. Whatever trauma he had experienced was emotional, not physical. Julian didn't have to be a genius to figure out what it was. Garak feared that the Dominion intended to destroy Cardassia. After seeing that eerie, vast golden sea, Julian wasn't too sure that fear was terribly off base. How many changelings were down there? Millions? Billions? Just four had nearly managed to wreck the sociopolitical climate of Earth within a matter of weeks.  
   
He helped him to sit up and very carefully worked his blood matted hair out of the way so that he could heal the seeping wound. He knew it would be quicker to shave the spot, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He had always loved Elim's hair. “A little harder, and Worf would've cracked your skull,” he said, keeping his focus on the regenerator and the slowly knitting flesh.  
   
“A little faster, and I would've broken his neck,” Garak said without emotion. “And then I would've reduced that planet to a heap of molten slag. And then,” he said with more emphasis, “the Jem'Hadar ships that must have been surrounding us would've opened fire, overwhelmed our shields and ablative armor, and all of us would be so much dust in space. And do you know what, Doctor?”  
   
“No, what?” he asked gently, parting more hair and moving downward along the curve of the skull. He could see exposed bone through the breach.  
   
“Almost no one in the Alpha Quadrant would have known the difference aside from the family members of the crew and your Federation government. Cardassia wouldn't have been any the wiser. I'm an afterthought there. Only now, I'm far worse than an afterthought. I'm a failed afterthought, and I'm afraid a great number of people are going to become aware of the consequences of that failure sooner than we think.”  
   
“If I wasn't intimately familiar with your taste in literature, I think I might be furious with you right now,” he said, almost finished with his work.  
   
“I would've killed you,” Garak said simply, his blue eyes clear and focused.  
   
“I know,” he said, turning off the dermal regenerator and leaning in to kiss him very softly. Garak's lips were cold. “It's how all of the repetitive epics end, isn't it? A Cardassian is forced to sacrifice his loved ones or let them die for the good of the state? You are Cardassia's loyal son.” He tried to muster outrage, a doctor's sense of the value of life. All he could feel was sorrow on his lover's behalf and grudging admiration for his dogged loyalty to the things which mattered the most to him. He realized that on some level, he had accepted a long time ago that he would never be foremost among those things, that nothing would ever supplant Cardassia or its interests in Garak's fierce heart. “I need to get you back to the brig. I'll make sure they give you a chance to clean up before taking you before the captain.”  
   
After he had him settled back in his cell with a promise from the guards that he would be given access to a sonic shower, he knew he had one other stop to make before he could rest. He understood Garak through long years of association, countless hours together, and more focus and attention than most people ever had to expend on a loved one just to reach basic accord. There was no way he intended to allow Captain Sisko to apply Federation standards of conduct and morals to a man not born of Federation privilege, a man who cut his teeth on Preloc, was honed by Enabran Tain, and even now was more appalled by his failure than his self-imposed mission of genocide and murder. He had seen enough of rough justice from the Founders upon Odo to allow another wrong to be committed that day, and he didn't care what it cost him to reach that understanding with his captain.  
   
 _Garak  
USS Defiant Wardroom  
Gamma Quadrant_  
   
Manacled at the wrists, Garak stepped into the Wardroom between his two ubiquitous Starfleet security guards. He could have told them that he had already spent all of his violence on a lost cause. He didn't bother. They wouldn't believe him, and the conditions of his captivity sat well with his own sense of failure. As he met Captain Sisko's dark gaze, he wondered which Federation prison planet would become his home until one of his enemies managed to get an assassin into place. He couldn't find it within himself to care.  
   
“Leave us,” Sisko said to the guards. “I'll call you if I need you.” His gaze followed their progress out and turned back to Garak. “Have a seat, Mister Garak.” He gestured to a chair opposite his.  
   
Garak inclined his head and did so, settling his hands between his knees. The metal cuffs were cold against his wrists. He saw a few silvery motes flutter downward, tiny scales rubbed free. He lifted his gaze to meet Sisko's. He didn't intend to project a sense of shame to this man. His shame was something the Starfleeter would never understand. The least he could do was to make certain he knew it had nothing to do with what he tried to achieve.  
   
The captain sighed heavily and steepled his long, dark skinned fingers. “I've just had an...enlightening conversation with Doctor Bashir,” he said. “Would you care to know what my first thoughts were?”  
   
“I'm quite at your disposal, Captain,” Garak said pleasantly.  
   
Sisko grunted and sat forward. “So...what? So what, I thought, that you were doing what you've been raised and trained to do all of your life. That anything less for you would be considered treason in your own mind and heart, that while it was a difficult decision, it was a necessary one. ‘The man attempted genocide,’ I thought, and if I give the appearance of tolerating or condoning it, then I betray everything I was raised to believe.”  
   
Garak waited for him to continue. When he didn't, he realized that he was waiting for him to speak. If he was expecting his usual dissembling, he was going to be sorely disappointed. The time for that in this situation was past now. “Then it would seem that we're at an ideological impasse,” he said simply. “Considering that I'm the one sitting here in shackles, I hardly have a say in any of this.”  
   
“I have to admit, I find your uncharacteristic straightforwardness refreshing,” he said with a smile that didn't quite meet his eyes. “I can't help but to see it as somewhat cynical on your part. You see, from where I'm seated, I see a man who believes he has nothing left to lose.” He stood and turned his back to him, lacing his fingers behind him. “I could press charges, have you shipped to one of the larger star bases in Federation territory. You'd be tried, undoubtedly found guilty based on the evidence we have, and condemned to serve a very long, very dull sentence in one of any number of penal camps.”  
   
“You'll do as you see fit,” Garak said mildly.  
   
Sisko whirled on him, the anger he had been holding in check rising in his eyes. “You're damned right about that, Mister! I will do exactly as I see fit.” He held the glare and toned it back. “In the end, I decided that would be too easy for you. You'd probably even welcome the chance to suffer, given how you must view your failure in your mission. Furthermore, it would be a waste of a resource.”  
   
The tailor felt a pang of unease. He didn't like the sound of that. “Captain,” he said, “I should tell you that if you believe the threat of incarceration, exile, or even execution will make me pliable to acting against the interests of my people in any way...”  
   
Sisko cut him off. “No,” he said. “No, you've proven beyond a shadow of a doubt to what lengths you'll go for Cardassia. The way I see it, as long as Cardassian and Federation interests align, I can count on you to do the hard thing. Kill or be killed. I've been placed in that position before, with the Borg. That's why I can't bring myself to press formal charges on you, but I am going to have to exact some penance, or the rest of my crew will never understand it. Starting once we get home and after you've had the chance to make Odo a uniform, you are to be kept in a holding cell on Deep Space Nine for a period of six months. You can protest this arrangement, but if you do, I'll have no choice but to turn you over to a Federation court, and I can promise you, they won't be nearly as lenient.”  
   
Garak studied him carefully. He felt neither elation nor dismay at the decision. However, he didn't believe him. He knew a lie when he heard it. Oh, yes, it sounded perfectly reasonable. There were probably even elements of truth to it. It wasn't the whole picture. “They terrify you, don't they? Whatever you saw down on that planet unnerved you to your core, to the point that I suddenly look like an attractive defense. That's what this is really about, isn't it?” He paused, not expecting an answer. “Well, in that, we have something in common,” he said. “They terrify me. I accept your solution without protest. I wish I could say I didn't think you were going to need me, but we both know that's just wishful thinking. They're coming, Captain. I don't know when. I just know that they are.”  
   
Sisko nodded gravely and tapped his comm badge. “Mister Stevens, you may take Mister Garak back to the brig now.”  
   
 _USS Defiant Brig  
Gamma Quadrant_  
   
Glancing around the small cell, he began the process of steeling himself against his claustrophobic tendencies. It would never do to allow anyone to see that particular weakness of his. The holding cells on the station were larger, though not by much. He wondered what would get to him first, the confinement, the boredom, or the lack of privacy. It didn't matter. All three would prove problematic. He was under no illusions about Sisko's apparent generosity. This was not leniency or mercy. This was the necessity of terror.  
   
His thoughts turned to Julian, his lover, his defender. He shook his head slightly. Here they were, bumping against some of the obstacles that worked against them during the first disastrous incarnation of their relationship. If the doctor wasn't careful, his misguided advocacy was going to hurt his career. He found the ease and quickness with which the younger man had accepted and justified his actions disturbing. He was a doctor!  _What are you doing to him, Elim? What are you doing with him?_  And now? He had no doubt that Julian would feel obligated to visit him in the security office every chance he got, a very public visitation that would damage him further, particularly when people began to hear why it was that Garak was incarcerated.  
   
He had been willing to sacrifice him for the sake of Cardassia's survival. He wasn't willing to do the same for his own comfort and peace of mind. As he thought of ways to prevent the doctor from hurting his career and reputation, Odo approached his cell carrying a chair. He sat it in the corridor squarely opposite Garak and dismissed the security detail before taking a seat. The tailor hadn't given thought to this confrontation, although in hindsight he saw it as inevitable. He steeled himself for harsh words.  
   
“About the Romulan Proconsul, Merrok,” Odo said, folding his arms. “I've had second thoughts. I think you poisoned him.”  
   
Garak blinked in surprise. “Odo...” he said hesitantly.  
   
“Don't try to deny it,” the constable shook his head. “The only thing I haven't been able to figure out is how. Tell me more about those orchids of yours. Is that why you were so frightened when Tain had one delivered to you?”  
   
Was this for his or Odo's benefit? Did it matter? “Before we get back to that,” Garak said, “I have...a favor to ask of you, not for my sake, but for Doctor Bashir's.”  
   
Odo's eyes showed an understanding light. “I'm listening,” he said.  
   
 _Deep Space Nine  
Docking Ring_  
   
As Garak disembarked with the rest of the crew, he realized he had many reasons for gratitude, not the least of which being that they didn't insist he leave the ship in shackles. He knew that this was likely Captain Sisko's way of sparing Ziyal emotional difficulty. Sisko was a good man in that respect.  
   
She waited for him at Major Kira's side. It was so plain on her face that she had eyes for no other. In behavior she may have been the essence of decorum; in her heart she was in love. There was nothing he could do about that. Unlike Julian he couldn't push her away for her own good, because there was no good to be had in isolating her. The best he could do was to receive what she gave and in turn give what little he could. He embraced her warmly and offered her his most genial smile when he pulled back and offered her his arm. “We have some catching up to do,” he told her lightly. “Will you accompany me to my shop? I also have some work I cannot delay.”  
   
Such simple trust as she displayed disarmed him completely. He thought he understood a little better why Tain had been so very careful to keep his distance. If the spy master allowed himself even half the affection for his son that Garak had developed for Ziyal, it was a frighteningly vulnerable position for someone with so many enemies and so much to lose. It reinforced his conviction that he could never afford to have a child of his own. Such sentiment would unmake him.  
   
“Well?” she asked, pulling him from his thoughts. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”  
   
He patted her hand and waited until they were safe in the embrace of his shop before explaining the situation. Although he was tempted to pad it, for her esteem mattered to him more than was prudent, he didn't. He wanted her to see him for what he was, the sorts of things he could do. He wanted her to understand that had it been her on that planet, his actions would have been no different at all. He should have known it would make no difference.  
   
She took his hand between both of hers. “I'm so sorry for you. I know you don't want that from me. I can't help it. I...know how much you care for Doctor Bashir. To be forced to make that kind of decision must have been torture.”  
   
“It was easier than you might think,” he said, frowning.  
   
“Only because you love Cardassia so,” she said, squeezing his hand and releasing him. “I'll visit you every day. I'll bring you books, music, whatever they'll let me give you. You're not going to go through this alone.”  
   
“It won't be as bad as all that,” he said. Funny that he could face death without flinching, yet such open sentiment sent him fleeing for more familiar ground. “I'm looking forward to the relaxation. I may take up writing again to pass the time. While I'll welcome your visits, you must promise me that you won't spend undue amounts of time in the security office. Your artwork isn't going to develop without diligent practice, and you need to spend time making friends, enjoying yourself. You won't be young forever.”  
   
She smiled. “I promise,” she said. The doors opened at her back, and Odo strode through. “I'll let you get to work now.” She offered a palm to press, and he returned the gesture. Turning, she put a light hand to Odo's forearm. “Take good care of him, please,” she asked of him. “I don't have many friends.”  
   
 _Julian  
Security Office_  
   
Julian frowned at Odo, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. “What do you mean he doesn't want to see me?” he demanded.  
   
“There's nothing wrong with the universal translator,” Odo said implacably. “You heard what I said, and you understood it.”  
   
“No,” he said, “no, I don't understand it. He's going to be incarcerated six months. You yourself realized we were back together. You're not holding a grudge against him for what happened back at your people's new homeworld any more than I am. I want to hear it from him. If he's going to do this, play martyr, or whatever it is he's doing, I deserve to hear it from him!”  
   
“I suggest you calm yourself,” the constable said, standing and circling his desk.  
   
“Or what? You're going to arrest me?” the doctor asked, half considering doing something that would force him to do just that. At least then Garak couldn't avoid him.  
   
“If I do,” Odo said, seeming to read his intentions, “it will be confinement in your quarters. You'll have the opportunity to see him in two weeks for a health check.”  
   
“Did he say why he won't see me?” He couldn't understand this. Things had been going well until that last two weeks. Could he be that angry? No, it didn't make sense. Garak had been kind to him before they left for the planet. In hindsight he realized how difficult that entire situation must have been for him, knowing what he intended, broadcasting none of it. Or was it? Was he more afterthought than he realized? Was it that Garak had been drawn back to his natural set point, a place where Starfleet lovers and the petty concerns of any who weren't Cardassian, or at least partly so, had no weight?  
   
“I didn't ask,” Odo said. “It's not my business. I do, however, intend to honor his wishes and respect his privacy as much as I can. I'm sorry, Doctor.”  
   
“Why do I doubt that?” he asked venomously, turning with as much dignity as he could muster and stalking out. He couldn't forget that the security chief had assumed he cheated on Garak the year previously. Likely, he thought he was protecting the tailor. All he could do was to hope that Garak would change his mind, get over whatever slight he believed he had been dealt, miss him enough to relent. Without the ability to apologize or talk it out, it was out of his hands. He thought he had made it clear that he didn't blame him for what he tried to do. Should he have been more explicit? To someone so skilled at reading between the lines, such a thing wasn't necessary, or it shouldn't have been. He returned to the infirmary to finish out his work day, determined to try again later. They had been through too much for him to give up easily.  
   
 _Garak  
Holding Cell_  
   
He had heard the timbre of Julian's voice in the office without being able to understand the words, the hurt and confusion, the overlay of anger. It was regrettable. Had he not given in to weakness in the first place, he wouldn't have to hurt the man now. He supposed there was a lesson in there somewhere. He was too tired to dwell on it.  
   
Odo approached from the office. “I did as you asked,” he said. “He's gone. Are you sure this is what you want to do? He's not going to quit right away, but if you keep him at bay for six months...”  
   
“It may be just the thing to convince him he doesn't need me in his life,” Garak cut in. “He might actually survive a little longer in that case, don't you think? His career certainly will.”  
   
Odo nodded, his look thoughtful. “About Chalan,” he said, changing the subject much to Garak's relief, “do you really think I should ask her to dinner?”  
   
Garak smiled slightly. “I do. Let her cook it for you. You won't be sorry.”  
   
“What if...what if we just don't hit it off? She's attractive, but I'm not sure she's really...my type.”  
   
“Odo,” he said patiently, “it's just dinner, not a marriage contract. If you don't hit it off, you don't hit it off. Maybe you'll make a friend. Maybe you won't. What can it hurt to try?”  
   
He nodded again. “All right. I'll try. For what it's worth, I admire what you're doing, and...I know how hard it is. I think it's the right decision. He may never realize it. I just thought you might like to know that someone does.”  
   
Garak inclined his head. Thankfully, Odo said no more, returning to his office and leaving him alone with his thoughts. He loved Julian, and he always would. He had indulged himself in that enough, and both of them had paid for it. It was time to set that aside. It was time to focus.  
   
If Odo could be so nonchalant about how close he came to killing him and destroying his people, the situation with the Dominion must have been more dire than any of them realized. He was slowly recovering from his failure, although it still stung. He was still alive. That meant there would be another chance. It wouldn't happen the same way, of that he could be sure. It didn't mean he couldn't be ready for opportunity. It didn't mean he wouldn't be ready, come what may. He may have made some mistakes in his assault plans, but the Founder had made a mistake, as well. She revealed her hand and let him live.  _You'll pay for that,_  he thought, sitting back against the wall behind his bunk.  _This I vow._

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place during “Broken Link.” A bit of dialogue comes from the episode, and I also slightly altered the order of events toward the beginning for a better flow. If you haven't read the entire series, you may notice a few references to things that never happened in the show, specifically something to do with Doctor Mora and Garak's reaction to an Edosian orchid delivery. All of these references are to things that happened in “Red Sky at Morning,” the story I wrote that wasn't based on any episode and took place shortly after Vedek Bareil's death. Knowledge of that story won't impact understanding of this one except in regard to the background of those references. This was posted to LiveJournal on June 1, 2010.


End file.
